Marrakech…the adventure is almost over

We’ve arrived in Marrakesh, our home for the next five nights, and the last city on our itinerary. The tour only grants two days in the city, but I didn’t want to waste vacation days sitting in my house and thus persuaded Em to extended an extra two days and fly home on Saturday. We probably could have gone home Friday, but we’re gonna make the most of our last few days.

Marrakesh is the fourth largest city in Morocco and considered the “fun” city by most of the locals we’ve chatted with during the last few weeks. Marrakesh doesn’t thrive on industry like Casablanca and has a thriving night life, so it’s the more hip and modern city to live in. It’s a huge tourist destination both for Moroccans and foreigners; especially the French, many of whom have opened hotels and restaurants within the city. 

The Medina quarter of the city is a UNESCO World Heritage Site containing the largest traditional market (souk) Morocco, with some 18 souks selling wares ranging from traditional Berber carpets to modern consumer electronics. Crafts employ a significant percentage of the population, who primarily sell their products to tourists.

The Medina is also home to Djemaa el-Fna square: one of the largest public spaces in the world and unique to Marrakech. When night falls on this square it transforms into a hive of activity. Henna-painters, performers, and storytellers share the square with a street food bazaar, packed with stalls loaded with Moroccan delicacies. In the middle of this chaos is where we had dinner on our first night in the city. 

We sat at one of the numerous food stalls where a dozen choices were laid out and we could point to what we wanted or if this particular stall don’t have something (like a fruit smoothie), they’d send a runner to another stall to grab it for you (with a slight up charge of course). We tried a bunch of tapas from grilled eggplant and potato fritters to tiny portions of couscous and vegetables to meat skewers. Khalid had grilled (or boiled) sheep’s head and got Nathan to sample a bit. Apparently, despite its unappetizing look, it’s quite tasty.

After dinner, we wandered a bit through the throngs of people (so many people in one place after the last two years of not seeing large gatherings was a little claustrophobic), dodging the touts that ambushed us every three feet trying to sell sunglasses and henna tattoos, Kleenex, spices, more food, wood, shawls, and many other trinkets. Mary ended up picking up a few tiny metal lanterns which looked beautiful all lit up on the square floor with their candles adding a nice ambience to the evening.

Our first full day in the city started early with Mary, Em, and I walking to what once was the Majorelle Gardens, but is now the home and gardens of Yves Saint Laurent. 

“Nearly a century ago, Jacques Majorelle, a French Orientalist painter, transformed his artistic canvas aesthetic into a living portrait of an African Garden of Eden. A Moroccan paradise resplendent with exotic botanicals, his trademark palette included splashes of bold colors that intensified the natural foliage in the garden. Majorelle’s adventurous spirit and love of nature yielded plant specimens collected from around the world. Coconut trees, cacti, banana trees, bougainvilleas, water lilies, yuccas, jasmines, palm trees and bamboos became the focal points for his impressionist garden. An expensive endeavor and failing health convinced Majorelle to open his gardens to the public in 1947.  He hoped the entrance fees would provide sufficient revenues to cover the maintenance of the gardens. Sadly in 1961, however, Jacques Marjorelle was hit by a car, his leg amputated, and he returned to his native French home for convalescence. Without his attention, a decade later, the gardens were abandoned” and fell into disrepair. 

In the 1960s, designer St. Laurent was visiting Morocco with his partner, Pierre Bergé, and they fell in love with the decaying property. In the 1980s they bought the place and painstaking restored it to its former glory. Today it is a magnificent tourist destination. 

We were lucky to get to the gardens about 30 minutes before the tour bus crowds arrived, thus having time to capture a few pictures before the gorgeous sights were marred by humans everywhere. The bold cobalt blue and yellow buildings interspersed with the exotic flora make for many Instagram worthy photographs and we had to compete with the influencers for shots. 

At one point we were politely pushed off the cobblestone paths of the gardens into the dirt by a Nigerian prince and his entourage. At the time we didn’t know who he was, just that he had to be someone. We were more intrigued with the fact that his head garment appeared to be pink taffeta wrapped like a turban and then with what looked like bunny ears sticking out from the top. It was only later in the evening when we meet back up with the boys and told them about the man with the pink bunny ears, ornate cane, and large security force did they connect the dots to the Nigerian prince they’d encounter at the Bahia Palace. 

Invigorated from our shady garden tour, we decided to head back to the Medina to seek out another garden, the Secret Garden. Little did we know at the time that we wouldn’t get there for hours. While people constantly tell me I have Resting Bitch Face and look like I want to tear someone’s head off, still somehow we always get singled out by the scam artists as perfect marks. I blame Em since she’s so friendly and will strike up conversations with anyone. 

Just inside the Medina walls, a friendly local informed us that we should stick to the right side of the road to avoid collisions with the numerous motorbikes that zip around everywhere. After thanking him, the local noticed my camera and launched into a spiel about how there was a local Berber’s market that is only once a week and just happened to be today. The market had many great colors and would make excellent photographs. This sounded interesting and Em immediately started asking how to find it. 

Our helpful guide started spouting directions and walking through a few alleyways before pointing to another man and saying “he’s a Berber and he’s going to the market. He’ll help you get there”. So of course we start following this new man, who is friendly enough and engages Em in conversation while walking at a nice fast clip. Mary and I dutifully follow after failing to get Em to hang back. We spend the next twenty minutes looking at each other and commenting: “where are we going.” “this is not the direction we wanted to go” “so much for really close (as we’re told only 5 minutes and 10 minutes later we’re still following our speed walking ‘guide’)”. “Look there’s the van they’re going to stuff us in and we’ll never see daylight again (as we pass a parked black van with blacked out windows).”

About twenty or thirty minutes of walking and we reach the Berber market, which really is a terrible smelling tannery and a cooperative shop where they sell leather goods, rugs, antiques, and jewelry. Even though we know we’ve been had, we figure since we’re here, we might as well enjoy some AC for a minute and look at the goods on display. The shop did have some very nice items and Em and Mary almost got sweet talked into purchasing some lovely leather bikers jackets, but came to their senses just as the main salesclerk’s eyes lit up with dollar signs. I did end up with a nice leather (seems real) belt with a silver and bone buckle and Mary got two round Pom chairs (circles that you stuff so you can sit on them), so the store made some profit off of us. 

When we left, we were accosted by our “guide” and his friends for entrance fees to the cooperative. This straight up wasn’t happening and we made sure to tell them off stating there was no way we were paying for being dragged somewhere false to begin with and Mary was literally retching when they forced us to walk through the tannery. With some grumbling, they let us pass and we continued on our way; now a good mile or two from our original destination.

Thus a typical twin adventure was had. 

We did eventually make it to the Secret Garden and it was worth the adventure. The garden’s origins start in the latter half of the 16th century when the Saadian dinasty ruled. The gardens were destroyed about 100 years later, but restored in the 1800s as a new palace. A little intrigue and some assassination over the years meant that the property changed hands a few times, fell into disrepair, and eventually was restored again, and opened to the public for the first time in 2008. 

The space is split into two: an exotic garden, filled with plants coming from all over the world, and an Islamic garden, following a riad like structure with a four-part layout designed to remind a wanderer of the layout of heaven, as described in the Quran. Both halves of the garden provide shade and a sense of calm and tranquility. It’s a nice place to grab a book and while away an afternoon.

We did a little more wandering of the souk, before catching a city bus back to our hotel and the Nespresso shop nearby. Em and Mary were ecstatic to find “good coffee” and the pods were cheaper than in the US, so we grabbed a few sleeves to take home. 

Are days left a numbered, but we are filling them well.